'These words were very faintly and wearily spoken; then her eyes closed again, and Henrietta, signing to me not to disturb her, drew me gently away from the bed. I made no remonstrance when she arranged some cloaks at the other end of the room, and begged me to lie down and try to sleep. All the afternoon I had felt tired and drowsy, and as if a heavy weight was pressing down my eyes. Now my head was aching painfully, my throat felt terribly parched and sore, and I lay down and sobbed on drearily, while Henrietta made me as comfortable as she could, and then went to keep watch by Bessie's side.
'"Perhaps she will be better to-morrow, if she goes to sleep," I murmured dreamily. But Henrietta's only answer was a silent kiss; and that is the last I remember of that weary night.
'It was broad daylight when I next opened my eyes. Henrietta was standing over me with a white worn face, and eyelids red and swollen with tears. I just recollect noticing this, and also vaguely wondering where Bessie was, for she was not lying on the mattress now; and when I raised my head, and tried to look round the room, there seemed no one there but Henrietta and myself. But I did not ask her any questions, and I made no reply when she spoke to me. In fact, her words did not seem to reach my senses, I felt far too ill and wretched to care for anything, except to be left alone. I certainly was conscious of an intense desire for that. It was agony to move my head, and my throat was so much swollen, and so painful, that I could scarcely breathe, much less speak. Certain hazy recollections I have of the turnkey's wife lifting me up, and pouring something down my throat. Then comes a long blank in my memory—that is, not quite a blank, for I have a confused remembrance of long restless nights and constant thirst, and horrible nightmare feelings, one of which was, that mamma perpetually appeared, bringing me a cup of cider, but that directly I tried to take it from her hand, she invariably dashed it to the ground. I woke up in my sound senses again. I heard Henrietta talking to somebody.
'"She will never get well here. The doctor told me so this morning. He says she must have pure air and wholesome, nourishing food; that nothing else can save her. Oh! what shall I do?"
'"Ah, poor little heart," said the voice of the turnkey's wife; "she is sorely changed, to be sure. She don't look as if you'd keep her here much longer. Well-a-day! My heart aches for her mother, poor lady; and they say her father's well-nigh ruined with gambling, and that's why he can't pay the fine."
'"And you sent the letter? You are certain that it went by a sure hand?" Henrietta asked anxiously.
'"Yes, yes, mistress, the letter's gone safe enough. But I've heard tell that they'll never let her come here till the money's paid; and sure she'll fret sadly to think how the poor child's lying sick and calling for her."
'"Henrietta," I said, when I heard the woman leave the room, "have you been writing to mamma?"
'She was looking down at me with a perplexed, pained countenance, but my words made it light up with a bright gleam of joy.
'"Frances, my darling, are you better? How glad I am to hear you speak like yourself again!"
'"Have I been very ill, Henrietta?"
'"Yes, dear, very ill indeed; but you are going to get better now, I hope."
'"I don't know. I thought you said—didn't you say something about a doctor?"
'"Yes, sweetheart; the governor sent you a doctor. He is coming again to-day."
'"And have I been very long ill?"
'"Only three days."
'"Only three days! but everything seems so long ago!"
'Even as I spoke, I remembered how Bessie had used the very same words; and I tried to raise myself on my elbow and look round, but I was much too weak to make the slightest movement without Henrietta's arm.
'"Where is Bessie?" I whispered.
'Henrietta's face changed, and she hesitated, as if doubtful what answer to give me; and, with a sudden pang, the thought came back to me of that night when I had cried myself to sleep, and that morning when, looking at the mattress where Bessie had been lying, I saw that she was no longer there. So I did not ask again, but passively swallowed the medicine that Henrietta brought me, and lay for a long time in silence, with my aching head in her lap. Then at length I repeated my first question, "Have you been writing to mamma?"
'"Yes, sweetheart; I wrote a long letter, and told her everything—how ill you were, and how much you wanted her. You kept imploring her to come all through last night."
'"Did I? Ah, I have been dreaming about her so much! Henrietta, did the doctor say that I should not get well?"
'"He thought you very ill, my dear; but you are so much better this morning, that I hope he will say that you are getting quite well now."
'"If mamma would but come!" I murmured. "I think I should get well if I could only have mamma."
'"Poor child!" said Henrietta, with a sigh. "I know that I cannot nurse you as well as she would. But she will come, Fan, when my letter reaches her. I am sure she will. And now, my dear child, you have talked too much already. You must lie still and rest now, and try to go to sleep."
'I was thinking of those words of the turnkey's wife, about my father being ruined, and not being able to pay the ransom; but I did not feel equal to the effort of asking Henrietta whether there was any truth in them, for I was very weary, and ill, and languid, and so weak that I could not even lift my arm. One thing more, however, I wanted to ask, before I followed her advice. "Henrietta, did you ever hear whether our letters were sent,—those letters that we wrote, you know, that first day?"
'"I do not know, but I fear not; for although I did ask the turnkey about them once, he would not give me a direct answer, and he looked so grim that I was afraid to say anything more."
'Henrietta did not tell me then that her ransom was already paid, and that the order for her release had been made out that very morning.
'It was not until some time afterwards that I found out how much I had to thank her for: how she had nursed me through those three days when I was lying between life and death, as untiringly and devotedly as if she had been mamma herself; nor how, when she might have left the jail the moment the order of release was signed, she had chosen instead to stay with me in the pestilential atmosphere of that wretched, comfortless little room, utterly refusing to leave me until my mother should come to take her place. But, as I said before, all this had not dawned upon me as yet. Besides, I felt that no one, however kind, could be quite the same as mamma when one was ill; so I am afraid I must have seemed very ungrateful to poor Henrietta, when I murmured fretfully, "Oh dear! oh dear! why doesn't my mother come? No one can nurse me as well as she can. I am sure I shall die if she won't come soon. Oh, mamma, mamma, I do want you soverymuch!" Then, with Henrietta's soothing words, and sweet low tones sounding in my ears, I sank exhausted into a long, deep sleep.'
'Surely that isn't the end?' said a disappointed voice, as Uncle Algernon paused, and gazed thoughtfully at the portrait of Lady Greensleeves, which was leaning against the wall, opposite his writing-table.
'That is all I know of Lady Greensleeves' story,' he replied, with a smile; 'but doubtless Blue-coat has something to tell. You must wait till I have had a confabulation with him, though.'
'When will that be?' cried Robin. 'I do want so to hear his story! You see boys are so much more interesting than girls.'
Uncle Algernon laughed, and asked Silvia what she thought; but Silvia was so much affected by the story, that she was unable to give a coherent answer, and being, moreover, much ashamed of her tears, she made rather a sudden exit, leaving Robin to extract a promise from Uncle Algernon that Bluecoat's story would be forthcoming at four o'clock on the morrow.
The children were punctual next day—so punctual, that they had to wait full five minutes before Uncle Algernon could finish what he was writing, add another sheet to the pile of manuscript in his desk, wheel his chair round to the fire, and begin.
BLUE-COAT'S STORY.
'I was out on the Palace bowling-green one afternoon, with some of my companions, most of them boys of my own age, and fellow-pages of mine. It was just after dinner, and almost the only time in the day when we were free to amuse ourselves exactly as we pleased; for though the life of a Court page was idle and profitless enough, perhaps worse than profitless, it was not all pleasure—not one continual holiday, as I had fancied it in the old days at Newcourt. I had to attend constantly upon the Queen, my mistress, at breakfast, dinner, and supper. When she rode, when she walked in the garden, or in St. James's Park, I was almost always obliged to follow her; and when she went out in her coach, I formed one of the escort on horseback. Then, in the evening, there was dancing, or sometimes a masque, in both of which I was often expected to take part; and this I rather liked than otherwise—the acting especially. But still the perpetual restraint and stiffness of Court etiquette, from morning to night, were very wearisome to me, and you cannot imagine how much I enjoyed the short time that I could really call my own, when I could put out my whole strength, hallo as loud as I chose, and use my legs and arms according to my own free will. Perhaps the part of my duties which I most hated was the standing about in the ante-room to the Queen's presence-chamber every morning, to receive letters and petitions, or deliver messages, or usher in people who came to wait on Her Majesty. Well, on the afternoon referred to, I was rejoicing in the thought of the tiresome business of the morning being over, and, preparing to enjoy myself thoroughly, I threw off my coat, and caught up a ball, when I heard the voice of one of the lacqueys calling for "My Lord Desmond."
'"Who wants me?" I cried impatiently; for the interruption was most vexatious when one had so very little time to spare.
'"There is a lady in the ante-chamber asking for you, my lord. She prays to see you immediately on very urgent business."
'A lady wanting me, and on very urgent business! This was strange. Could it be Lady Mountfort? I thought; and my spirits sank at the idea. But when I suggested this in an undertone to Hal Verney, my chief friend among the pages, he only laughed, and vowed that when I died the words "Lady Mountfort" would be found graven on my heart, as "Calais" was on that of Queen Mary.
"Far more likely," he said, "that it is only some one with a petition to the Queen for grace to some of the rebels. There have been so many here lately seeking pardons for their friends."
'"Oh! 'tis that, depend on it," said another. "Only it seems strange that they should have admitted her at this hour."
'"Well, whoever it may be, make haste to come back," called out Hal, as I walked reluctantly off to see this mysterious visitor of mine.
'"Did she give no name?" I asked of the lacquey.
'"No. She had refused to give any name," the man said. He could only tell me that she seemed of middle age, but that her face was so concealed by hood and muffler that not a glimpse of it was to be seen. I felt no good will towards her as I made my way through the noisy group of pages, gentlemen-ushers, Roman Catholic priests, and Protestant chaplains, that filled the doorway of the Queen's ante-chamber. Nevertheless it was with decided relief that I glanced at the tall, stately figure, standing in a corner of the room, which was pointed out to me as the lady. She was not Lady Mountfort, that was quite clear, in spite of the veil and muffler; so I was able to bow, and ask what her commands might be, with all the ease and self-possession I had learnt of late, and which would have been quite impossible to me six months before.
'"Can Lord Desmond let me have a few words with him in private?" she said in a very low and rather tremulous tone.
'But though she spoke almost in a whisper, I knew the voice directly. It was that of my mother-in-law, Lady Dalrymple.
'"Oh! find some place where I can speak with you alone," she repeated earnestly, as I looked round the room, considering where I should take her. "There is something that I must say to you—something that may be a matter of life or death."
'These words fairly startled me, and drove the game of bowls completely out of my head. Without any more hesitation, I pushed open a side door, close to where we were standing, and led the way to the Queen's private oratory, which I knew at that hour we were likely to have to ourselves. Lady Dalrymple threw back her veil as I shut the door of the little chapel, and held out both hands to me. She looked much older and thinner than when I had last seen her on my wedding day; and the kind, bright, cheerful face, of which I still kept such a pleasant recollection, had a look of melancholy which I had never seen there before.
'"Algernon," she began hurriedly, "you have not forgotten your little wife, my poor little daughter Frances, whom you promised to love and cherish and protect. Well, she is in trouble now, as you must know—in very great trouble and danger—and I have come to ask you to help her."
'"But, madam," I stammered, astonished and bewildered, "how——"
'"Algernon, you are bound to help her. You cannot refuse," she interrupted, almost fiercely.
'"But indeed I am ready, madam. I will help her with all my heart, if you will only tell me what I am to do."
'"I want you to petition the Queen for her," continued Lady Dalrymple, trying to control herself and speak calmly. "She will listen to you. She cannot deny a husband pleading for his wife. Can she?" And Lady Dalrymple laid her hand on my shoulder, and looked at me for a moment, with an expression in her eyes as if she was not quite sure whether she meant to laugh or cry. It reminded me of the smile with which she had greeted me that night when Sir Harry first presented me to her at Horsemandown; only it was so much sadder, that a vague terror rushed into my mind.
'"Where is Frances?" I asked abruptly. "And why is she in trouble?"
'"What! Is it really possible that you have not heard of the Taunton maidens?" cried Lady Dalrymple. "Why, theirs is one of the most cruel cases in all this wicked, horrible business. Of all the unjust sentences that Judge Jeffreys has passed during these terrible assizes, this is surely the most shameful of all. 'Where is Frances?' do you say, child? She is in prison—in the common jail—in company with criminals and outcasts. She and two of her schoolfellows were sent there. Yes, Judge Jeffreys had actually the heart to shut up three young girls in a place like that, where a fever is raging too. One of the poor children is dead already, and my poor little Fan will die too if she is not taken away from that terrible place. She is very, very sick, and they will not let me go to her."
'Poor Lady Dalrymple! There was such a tone of misery in her voice, that I felt at that moment as if I would have done anything in the world for her. And, besides, I had a strong feeling of pity for my poor little bride, for her own sake. I had not thought much about her, it is true, since the day of our wedding. We had been very good friends then, and I had considered her a pretty little girl, and merry and good-humoured enough. Still, she certainly did think great things of herself—there was no doubt about that—and generally managed to make her brothers give way to her. This I very soon found out; and, happening to have an equally good opinion of myself, and a most decided liking for my own way, of course these qualities did not raise her in my estimation. I did not at all care for girls, excepting only Agnes, who was just like my sister, and always did whatever I told her. Nevertheless, I was sorry for Frances from the bottom of my heart. I tried to fancy her shut up in a gloomy jail, ill with fever, with no one to nurse her, and perhaps nothing to eat or drink: she whom I had last seen with bright eyes and rosy cheeks, so fearless and high-spirited, and leading what I thought must be such a happy life at that charming old place Horsemandown, with her brothers, her dogs, and her ponies for companions! When I thought of this, the blood rushed to my cheeks with indignation at Judge Jeffreys' cruelty, and for a moment I felt almost choked, and as if I could not speak to ask how she had come to be in his power at all. Then Lady Dalrymple went on to tell me how Madame St. Aubert, Sir Harry's kinswoman, under whose care Agnes Blount and my wife had been placed at Taunton, had brought the King's severe displeasure upon herself and all her pupils, by leading them in procession to present a Bible and a banner to the Duke of Monmouth. All the details of the story which Lady Dalrymple told me, as far as she knew, you have already heard from Frances herself, so I will not repeat them.
"The affair of the Taunton maids," as it was called at Court, had been talked about for a day and then forgotten, or thrown into the background by other incidents of the Rebellion. Perhaps, as Lady Dalrymple hinted in the bitterness of her wrath and anxiety, there were some who had their reasons for hushing it up as soon as possible. But however this might be, it had somehow never entered my head to connect the "affair of the Taunton maids" with my little bride Frances, and Agnes Blount. No names had been mentioned; and fining and imprisonment seemed but a slight penalty when one heard of so many unfortunate people sentenced to be beheaded, hung, or transported; to say nothing of the chief victim of all, the Duke of Monmouth himself, whose fate created more interest and excitement at Court than that of all the rest put together.
'"But, madam," I asked timidly (for I always felt a little afraid of people in any great trouble), "will not Frances be set free directly the fine is paid?"
'"My good child, if she waits till then, she will never be set free. The fine they ask is shamefully extravagant for all the children, but for those three girls it is even more than that. It is an enormous ransom—a sum that is quite out of our power to pay."
'"But," I persisted, in astonishment, "I thought Sir Bernard was so very rich!"
'"Why should you think so?" demanded Lady Dalrymple, with a slight sharpness in her tone.
'"Oh, because—— It was only something that Agnes heard Father Freeling say at Newcourt."
'"Ah, well!"—and poor Lady Dalrymple sighed heavily—"perhaps Father Freeling was right once upon a time; but those days are over now. Sir Bernard has been very unfortunate; and as to this sum of money, Mr. Sidney may be able to pay it for his daughter, and, rich as he is, it will take half his fortune, but we cannot do it. Were we even to ruin ourselves and our other children, we could not do it; and my poor Frances must be saved some other way, unless she is to stay and die in that den of thieves."
'"She shall be saved!" I said to myself resolutely, and then stood pondering in silence on what the next step should be. "Madam," said I, a new idea striking me, "why should not I pay the ransom? If she is my wife, I have a right to do it more than any one else. Oh, surely Sir Harry could not have any objection! And if enough could not be had without, we might sell some of the land."
'"Nay, that is out of the question," she said, interrupting me with a melancholy smile. "My dear boy, I trust that you will help me to save her, but it cannot be done in that way. My husband has appealed to Sir Harry already, but he can do nothing. He cannot touch your money; and if he could, he would have no right to do so. You are under age. We have no right to ruin you even for her sake. No; my only hope now is to petition the Queen."
'"Then I pray you, madam, let me take you to the Queen. You would know what to say so much better than I should."
'But Lady Dalrymple shook her head very decidedly at this proposition. "No, Algernon, believe me, you would have a much better chance of success than I should. So many parents have pleaded in vain already. But she is your wife, and—so young as you both are—— Yes, indeed, I am sure it is far better that you should go."
'"Then I will go at once," I exclaimed impetuously, and should have acted on my words if Lady Dalrymple bad not caught my arm.
'"Gently, gently, my good Algernon; wait a bit. Where is her Majesty now?"
'"In her closet with the Princess Anne."
'"And is it usual to disturb her at this time?"
'I was obliged to admit that it was very unusual indeed, there being a sort of general order that at this time the Queen was to be molested on no pretext whatever, unless it were for some exceptionally weighty matter. And to-day the rule was more stringent than usual, as Her Majesty was closeted with the Princess Anne.
'"Then you must not go now. You must wait for a more convenient season. Algernon, I implore you not to be hasty. Everything depends upon speaking at the right moment."
'I saw the force of this counsel plainly enough, though had I been left to myself, I doubt if it would ever have struck me; for I was rather given to set about things in a blundering way, just at the moment when they came into my head.
'"When shall you next see the Queen?" asked Lady Dalrymple.
'"This afternoon, madam, she will walk in the gardens, or, mayhap, go on the river, and either way I shall attend her."
'"Then you will doubtless find some happy opportunity for your petition. I trust to you to choose your time wisely, and to make yourself heard. Now I must not stay longer. See, this is where I am lodging;" and she handed me a paper. "If you succeed, it will be easy enough to send me tidings."
'"But, madam, pray stay one moment. What must I say?"
'"Nay, child, choose your own words. Tell her Majesty the plain facts just as I told you; and surely, if she has a heart at all, they will be enough for her. Farewell! Be wary. But, for God's sake, be as speedy as you prudently can."
'Lady Dalrymple turned to leave the oratory; and as I moved to open the door, it was pushed back by some one outside, and Lady Sarah Buckthorne, one of the maids of honour to the Queen, came in for a few steps, and then stopped short with a look of astonished inquiry.
'"I was called in from—— This lady wished——" I began, somewhat confused.
'"I must beg pardon for intruding here," said Lady Dalrymple courteously; "but I had occasion for a few words with my kinsman, Lord Desmond, and as the ante-chamber was crowded and noisy, he brought me here for privacy."
'Lady Sarah made a stiff courtesy, took up a breviary that lay on the Queen's prie-dieu, and departed.
'"Is that one of the Queen's ladies?" asked Lady Dalrymple sharply; and when I told her, there was a look in her eyes for a moment that was almost fierce. "If they only understood——! If they could know but for one minute——!" I heard her murmur as we passed through the passage that led to the ante-chamber.
'When I got back to the bowling-green, a game was going on, in which everybody seemed too deeply interested to notice my reappearance. I was rather glad of this, for I was in no humour to play; so I stood looking on absently, while I pondered in my own mind what I should say to the Queen. Presently Hal Verney came up to rouse me with a slap on the shoulder, and asked why I was in the dumps, and who it was that had sent for me.
'"You see you were such an unconscionable time gone," he continued, "that you could not expect one to wait for you. But this game is almost over, and then we'll have a glorious match; so cheer up, man, and don't be moody."
'I gave Hal to understand that he had hit upon quite a wrong explanation of my moodiness, and that my interest in bowls for that morning was over. Whereupon he became so curious, that I ended by telling him all. Hal was such a quick, sharp-witted fellow, that I thought it very likely he might be of some use to me in managing my suit to the Queen. I had scarcely ever spoken of Frances to Hal before—partly because, I am sorry to say, she was so very seldom in my thoughts, and partly because, when I first came to Court, it had been the fashion with him and the others to consider my very early marriage as an excellent joke, and to pity me for being tied to a wife already. However, even if that jest had not been worn out long ago, there was far too much chivalry in Hal for him to dream of alluding to it now. He listened with more interest than I had expected, and was quite as vehement in his indignation against the Lord Chief-Justice as I was myself. '"You had better say nothing to the others about what you are going to do," was his first bit of counsel. "It is as well that it should not be noised all over the Palace before you make your petition. Why, Algernon, you must have heard all about the Taunton girls and that Madame St. Aubert before? 'Tis a marvel that you should never have thought of your wife being among them!" I could not but own that I had been extremely dull. "And then," Hal proceeded, "I daresay you never noticed how, one day, when Princess Anne asked what had become of them, Lady Sarah managed to turn the conversation, and prevent any one from answering her. Ah, well, if you had kept your eyes open, as I do, you would know something of these matters." I looked at Hal with intense respect. He certainly had a wonderful talent for keeping his eyes open, and finding out all the little intrigues that were going on in every quarter of the Palace. "Do you know," he went on, in very low and mysterious tones, "that the Queen's ladies have contrived to get the fines for those girls granted to them to divide among themselves? Isn't it a shamefully mean and pitiful thing to do? It was through Philip Buckthorne that I found it out."
'"The maids of honour!" repeated I in dismay. "Then there is no chance of the Queen's showing any grace to me!"
'"Nay, don't be too sure of that," said Hal sagaciously. "Depend upon it the Queen knows mighty little about the matter; and however that may be, it is not at all unlikely that she may grant a pardon to this one particular girl, when she hears who she is, and all about her."
'"I wish Lady Dalrymple would have agreed to ask an audience of the Queen herself," I sighed despondingly.
"She had too much wit to do that," pronounced Hal with a significant smile. "Don't you know that Sir Bernard Dalrymple is not in the King's good graces? Ah, you were not here in King Charles's time, so you don't know, of course. You see, he used to be in high favour with King Charles, but the Duke of York never liked him. Why, since the coronation, Sir Bernard has never been seen at Court. Then, besides, he lost tremendously at the gaming-tables—more than half his fortune, they say. And he is in debt. Oh, there is scarcely a soul in the Palace that he does not owe money to." I was quite aghast at this piece of information. It accounted for Lady Dalrymple's refusal to give her name, and her evident wish not to make herself known to any one but myself. And there was yet another reason why she should shrink from showing herself at Court, which Hal (thanks to his ever-open eyes) was enabled to confide to me. It had been whispered that Sir Bernard had had, at one time or another, some correspondence with Monmouth. It was only a rumour, with no shadow of proof. "Still," quoth Hal, "enough to make His Majesty look somewhat coldly on the Dalrymples of Horsemandown just at present."
'"If she was but your wife, Hal, instead of mine you would manage it so much better." Hal was, I suspect, quite of the same opinion, though he did not say so. We then stood considering the subject in silence for a minute. "Marry, Hal, now I think of it, I have a particularly bad chance with the Queen to-day!"
'"What! because of Carlotte? Ay, true enough. I forgot that. How very unlucky, to be sure!"
'Carlotte was one of those beautiful little black spaniels, which King Charles had brought into fashion, and which, in his time, quite swarmed wherever his Court happened to be. It was by the late King himself that Carlotte had been given to my mistress, and she certainly was one of the most perfect specimens of her kind that I ever saw. Not one of the Queen's many pets was valued like Carlotte. And you may imagine into what dire disgrace I had brought myself this morning, while we were walking in the park, by throwing a large stone, in picking up which she had broken three of her teeth!
'"Yes," pursued Hal, shaking his head with an air of profound wisdom, "that certainly is against you. You provoked her sorely by that piece of folly; and, I warrant, you will be out of favour with her for the rest of the day. And no marvel either! I'll tell you what, Desmond! I have an idea our best way will be to get some one else to speak to the Queen—some one who is a favourite of hers, who has a strong influence over her, and whose word would have some weight."
'I caught at this idea with great satisfaction; but then, who was this some one to be? Whose word would have the most weight with her Majesty? The maids of honour were clearly out of the question. One person after another came into my mind and was rejected.
'"How would the Princess Anne do?" Hal suggested, but in a doubtful tone.
'I shook my head. Princess Anne was the very soul of good-nature, it could not be denied; but had she a strong influence over the Queen, or any one else? No, we had a great misgiving that she had not. '"Hal," cried I suddenly, "I have it at last! Father Niccolo!"
'"Bravo!" was Hal's enthusiastic reply. "The very man!"
'And he was the very man, as far as regarded influence with the Queen; but whether he would be likely to prove a warm partisan of one of the Taunton rebels, the adherents of the "Protestant Duke," was more doubtful; for Father Niccolo was the most staunch, not to say bigoted of Papists.
'"No matter," said the undaunted Hal, when this objection was started; "we must find some way of making him do it."
'This bold yet simple plan for settling the difficulty was really enough to take one's breath away.
'"Make him do it!" gasped I. "The Queen's own confessor! Faith, Hal, that's more easily said than done."
'"Very likely," responded Hal, with his wonted coolness; "still, that's no proof that it can't be done at all."
'"Well, how you can dream of making him do anything, I can't for the life of me imagine."
'Neither could Hal, as he was fain to confess. "At least, not just at this moment," he said. "But never mind," he went on confidently; "wait a bit; we'll lay our heads together, and some scheme shall be hatched presently, I warrant you."
'"I suppose," I suggested, rather doubtfully, "there's not much chance of persuading him to do it, if we just go and tell him the whole story, simply, from beginning to end."
'"Odds fish, no!" cried Hal hastily (it was the fashion among the pages to affect this exclamation, because it was always in the mouth of the late King). "That is just like you, Algernon. You always want to go about matters in such a blundering, downright way! You were never born for a statesman, that's quite clear."
'I suppose I was not, for my instinct always was to use the simplest and quickest means possible to gain my point. I had an intense dislike to doing things in a crooked, roundabout way; and if I made the slightest attempt to do so, was sure to break down hopelessly. Now, Hal had undoubtedly a strong taste for a little bit of intrigue. Not that he would do anything that he considered mean or dishonourable. He had his own ideas of honour, and was staunch enough to them; but his Court life had begun very early, and had taught him a great many things which shocked me when I first knew him. Among them was this love of man[oe]uvring, which I could neither understand nor take a share in, notwithstanding my friendship for Hal. But he was older than I was; and I admired and respected him so much that I generally gave way to his opinion.
'"You see, we could not offer him a bribe worth having," Hal presently pursued; "and even if we could, I have my doubts as to whether he would take it. He is a superstitious fool, and chicken-hearted enough for anything; but I don't think he is so greedy as some folks that I wot of. No! Look you, Algernon, this is what we must do; we must frighten him into it."
'"Well, but how! Do you mean by some trick of goblins or demons?"
'"No, not that; though that were no bad notion either. There's nothing he would not believe. But I'll tell you the scheme I've thought of. You know Father Niccolo always paces up and down the green walk under the chapel windows, reading his breviary for some time before vespers. Well, we'll be in hiding in that dark alley leading down to the river, you and I, and two or three more of us. We must be right well cloaked and masked, of course—in such guise that he shall have no inkling as to who we are. Then, when Father Niccolo passes, out we rush, drag him into the alley, and force a promise from him to pray the Queen's grace for the maids of Taunton."
'"But, Hal, force a promise! how can that be managed? Father Niccolo is not very easily browbeaten, I imagine."
'"Leave that to me," replied Hal, whose confidence in his own powers seemed to increase with the necessity for using them. "It will be my business to arrange about that. Your legs and arms will be more wanted in this affair than your tongue, Algernon; and they are not to be despised in the matter of strength. I think I could be made to promise most things if held in your grip, with no chance of being released until I had passed my word. But are you willing that I should have the whole conduct of this affair?"
'"Oh, certainly; if you are quite sure there is no other way of gaining the pardon."
'"You must see yourself that this is the surest and swiftest," cried Hal eagerly; and then he hastily ran over the arguments which proved that every other scheme must fail. In fact, he was becoming so much in love with his plot, that I am sure he would have been highly disgusted if I had discovered a flaw in it, or had suddenly devised a much better one. But I could not, and so was obliged to fall in, heart and soul, with Hal's project. I was not without some doubts and scruples which I was ashamed to confess to him, but which troubled me a good deal at first, though I speedily forgot them in the excitement of planning and carrying out our enterprise.
'"In the first place," said Hal, "we must get one or two of the others to help us, who will keep our counsel, and do as they are told. Roger Crosbie for one, I think, and Phil Buckthorne for the other."
'"Is he to be trusted?" I ask rather doubtingly.
'"To be sure? He's too much of a blockhead to make out the meaning of half our proceedings. We need only tell him that we want to give Father Niccolo a fright. That will be quite enough for his thick skull to take in. In the matter of cloaks and disguises, you may trust me," Hal went on to say, looking very important. "I know of one who will get me all I want, and ask no questions, either now or afterwards. You need not open your eyes so wide, Master Innocence; but just go and secure Phil and Roger, and let out as little of the project as need be to them. They'll be ready enough to join us, I warrant, for the sake of the frolic."
'And he went off, whistling a bar of the "Old and Young Courtier"—a tune for which he had a great partiality—while I proceeded on the mission entrusted to me, distracted between my admiration for Hal's cleverness and a haunting fear which would beset me that we were not going the right way to work.
'It was quite dusk (about eight o'clock, I think) when we four conspirators, being released from attendance on the Queen till supper-time, one by one left the great gallery where most of our fellow-pages were congregated, and slipped away to don our disguises, and make our way down to the Palace gardens, which Hal had appointed as our place of meeting. Hal's mysterious friend evidently understood the art of concealment. We were cloaked and muffled to the eyes; and so tall and broad did my three companions look, that I hardly recognised them in the dim light. They were all in excellent spirits. Roger Crosbie and Phil Buckthorne (who, as I ought to have told you, was a brother of Lady Sarah's) had taken mightily to the idea of reducing Father Niccolo to a state of abject submission, by means of his fears. A Popish priest was considered fair game; and they offered not only to keep him prisoner in the dark passage till Hal had worked his will upon him, but also, if need were, to duck the unfortunate father in the river which ran at the further end of the alley. But Hal pronounced this to be both impolitic and unnecessary; and beseeching us to be silent and cautious, he led the way to our hiding-place.
'At the time at which I am speaking, the chapel and the Queen's apartments at Whitehall were allen suite; so that, when you stood in the green walk facing the chapel windows, you had the gardens on your left hand, with the windows of the Queen's rooms looking into them, and behind you a block of buildings, through which ran the narrow passage wherein we were to hide.
'And there we crouched down, waiting, with our eyes fixed on the strip of grass and paved walk, which were all we could see from the narrow opening in front of us, till it grew so dark, that it was impossible to distinguish between grass and pavement; and I began to fear that when Father Niccolo did come, we should not be able to see him.
'"I am beginning to feel uncommonly like Guy Fawkes," whispered Roger, half laughing, in my ear.
'I myself had been feeling so for some time; and it was only by calling up to my mind's eye a picture of poor Lady Dalrymple sitting lonely in her lodgings, waiting for the good news I was to bring her, that I could force myself to stay where I was, and go through with the undertaking. Just then the chapel bell began to ring for vespers; and between the strokes we distinctly heard a footstep echoing on the flagged pathway.
'"He's coming!" said Hal below his breath. And springing to his feet, he peered eagerly into the darkness.
'A figure was passing between us and the faint glimmer of light, which was all that remained, and in another moment it was surrounded, seized, enveloped over head and shoulders in a large cloak, and dragged struggling into the dark archway. The old priest fought desperately; and Roger and I were obliged to pinion his hands behind him with both our own before Hal dared raise the muffler, and whisper in his ear, "You are safe. Only be still, and no one shall harm you."
'A piercing scream was the only answer; and at the same moment I let go my hold, calling out in dismay, "Hal! Hal! It's a woman! I felt the rings on her hands."
'The woman, whoever she was, feeling our grasp on her arms loosen, made a violent effort, and slipping from our hands, darted up the alley, and disappeared from sight.
'"Idiots that you were, to let her go!" cried Hal furiously. "We must after her, and bribe her to hold her tongue, or she will raise a hue and cry, and we shall have a dozen people at our heels before we can reach the Palace."
'Off we started in hot pursuit, guided by the faint sound of footsteps flying in the direction of the chapel, which was the nearest place of refuge. But, alas! as ill luck would have it, Phil Buckthorne, whose legs were as quick as his brain was slow, was foremost in the race. He overtook the flying figure on the threshold of the chapel, and disregarding Hal's warning cry, which was raised as high as he dared, rushed in after her. The rest of us, when we reached the door, hesitated a moment what to do next. If we had taken to our heels then, we might have escaped scathless; but we could not leave Philip in the lurch, and so, after a pause of a few seconds, we followed his example, and went in. The chapel was lighted up in preparation for vespers; and the first person who met our astonished and horrified gaze was Lady Sarah Buckthorne! who sat sobbing on a chair by the altar, supported by Father Niccolo. In front of her stood Philip, looking utterly abashed and confounded, while he repeated slowly:
'"I tell you, sister, we meant no harm. There is no need to be frightened. 'Twas all a mistake."
'"No need to be frightened!" cried Lady Sarah angrily. "I ask you, father, if it was not enough to frighten me when a whole gang of young ruffians set on me at once, dragged me into a dark entry, and bound my hands behind me?"
'"There were but four of us," said Phil, looking very sheepish.
'He certainly had a talent for making matters worse, for he went on:
'"I shouldn't have touched you if I had known who it was; but we took you for Father Niccolo, you see."
'Lady Sarah laughed hysterically.
'Father Niccolo exclaimed, "Holy mother! what iniquity is this?" And Hal, seeing that all was lost, pushed past Philip, after privately shaking his fist at him, and stopped any further revelations by beginning a series of the most profuse apologies to the injured Lady Sarah. But Hal had been so taken aback on discovering who our prisoner really was that his words did not come quite so readily as usual. She would not listen. She had been very much frightened, and now she was very angry. Moreover, she was by no means so thick-witted as her brother, and was evidently beginning to suspect that our unlucky plot was something more than a mere frolic.
'"The Queen shall hear of this, sir," she replied to Hal's protestations. "You and your accomplices must be taught that her Majesty's ladies are not to be put in fear for their lives with impunity. You, Hal Verney, have been the ringleader in all sorts of mischief too long. It is time that your pranks should be put a stop to."
'"But, madam, hear me one minute. It was my doing. It was for my sake that Hal—that we—— In fact, if this comes to her Majesty's ears, the blame must rest with me," cried I, unable to keep silence any longer.
'"You here, my Lord Desmond!" cried Lady Sarah, while Hal plucked my sleeve impatiently to force me to be quiet (he had so much more faith in his own powers of persuasion than in those of any one else)—"I could not have believed it," Lady Sarah went on. "This matter must be sifted to the bottom."
'"It must, madam," interrupted Father Niccolo, who was evidently anxious to oust so many heretics from his chapel; "but this is not the place for the inquiry. The hour for vespers has struck, and I am expecting every moment—— There! it is too late." And so it was, for at that moment the doors at the other end of the chapel which communicated with the Queen's rooms were thrown open, and Her Majesty, leaning on the arm of the Lord Chamberlain, and followed by a crowd of her Roman Catholic attendants, advanced down the aisle.
'Of course the group at the altar broke up in confusion. Lady Sarah slipped quietly into her place amongst the other maids of honour, contriving to whisper me as she passed, "Imustsee you this evening before supper." Father Niccolo glided noiselessly into his stall, and we four, who, as Protestants, were not required to attend the Queen at her devotions, beat a hasty retreat to the door by which we had entered. It was accomplished in a moment, but it needed only one glance at the astonished face of the Queen to assure us that we had been observed. If we had had any hope before of Lady Sarah's tender mercies, or of Father Niccolo's good-nature, we had none now. Her Majesty would never forgive such an unwarrantable intrusion into her private chapel. Hal's most flowery apologies would be of no use now, and I might consider my suit as hopeless. We were all in rather low spirits as we walked away. Hal and Roger relieved their minds by abusing Phil Buckthorne; but I was too much out of heart even to do that. Here was the day almost at an end, and I was not one whit nearer fulfilling my promise to Lady Dalrymple than I had been in the morning. Indeed, difficult as I had thought it then to ask a grace of the Queen, it seemed almost impossible now. And Lady Dalrymple had implored me above all things to be speedy. I was at my wit's end to know what to do in the matter next, and gave vent to my perplexities in such a heavy sigh, that Hal clapped me on the shoulder, saying:
'"Cheer up, Algernon. I've been in and out of many a worse strait than this. The Queen's anger won't last for ever; and even if she does flout us for a time, we can live very well without Court favour."
'"'Tis not that, as you know full well," said I, rather roughly, for Hal's nonchalance was particularly irritating just then. "But how am I ever now to get the Queen's favourable ear for that other business?"
'"Whew!" ejaculated Hal in a sort of prolonged whistle. "I declare that I had quite forgotten all about it. Well, of all mishaps in the world, only think that we should have had the ill luck to run against Lady Sarah! She'll not rest till she ferrets out the whole story. What was it she said to you as we were coming out of the chapel?"
'When I told him he shook his head despondingly.
'"That bodes us no good, I'm afraid," said he. "She will never forgive us for the way we used her. I must confess the poor lady did get some rough handling among us. That grasp of yours on her shoulder must have been anything but pleasant. And how we dragged her mantle and hood about! I remember hearing a great rent, and thinking what wretched stuff the good father's gown must be made of."
'Hal went into a fit of laughter at the remembrance, which put the finishing stroke to my ill-humour. I broke away from him, and would not hear when he called after me:
'"Nay, but hear me, Algernon. I have thought of a plan."
'I resolved, however, that I would have nothing to do with Hal's plans for the future, and marched away to await my interview with Lady Sarah, feeling more angry with him than I had ever done before, and most ungrateful for his well-meant attempts to assist me. Phil Buckthorne at last summoned me to his sister's presence.
'"She has been asking me about a hundred questions," said he, "and boxed my ears for a simpleton when I told her 'twas only a frolic of ours to frighten Father Niccolo. She has got some maggot in her head, but what it is I can't say."
'I had only time for a hearty though secret wish that Lady Sarah was as great a simpleton as her brother, before I found myself standing within the door of her chamber, and face to face with the lady herself. Her sharp, black eyes seemed to look me through and through; and before I had settled how much of my secret I ought to reveal for the sake of shielding my companions, and how much I ought to keep back for the sake of Lady Dalrymple, she had drawn the whole story from me by a few skilful questions. Indeed, I soon found that she knew so much already about the danger my wife was in, and the pardon I had promised to obtain, that it was hopeless to try and keep anything from her.
'"And so for once in his life Master Hal Verney's schemes have miscarried," she said, with a mischievous laugh, "and you are farther from your object than ever. That boy's love of intrigue will be the plague of the whole Court by and by. I am heartily glad he should have been found out, even though I was the victim of this plot of his. I shall not grudge the fright he gave me, if it is the means of bringing on him the punishment his tricks so richly deserve. Indeed, there is not much doubt that he will receive that. The Queen is justly angry, both at what she saw of the unseemly invasion of her chapel, and also at what Father Niccolo has told her of your designs upon him, which my wise brother Phil so obligingly revealed. She hath already commissioned my Lord Chamberlain to make all inquiries upon the subject. So I am in great hopes that Master Hal Verney will either be dismissed from his pageship altogether, or at least find himself banished for a time to the solitudes of Windsor or Hampton Court, where he would find ample leisure to meditate upon his own ill-doings, and learn to amend his ways for the future."
'Lady Sarah looked so thoroughly and maliciously in earnest as she expressed her hopes of Hal's speedy disgrace, that I could not help exclaiming indignantly:
'"But why Hal more than any of the rest of us? You know, Lady Sarah, it is I who ought to get the worst of the punishment, whatever it may be. It was all my doing."
'"Tut, tut, child, never tell me," replied her Ladyship. "'Twas Hal Verney arranged the whole affair, I dare answer for it. I know his pranks of old. As for the rest, Phil deserves a punishment for not knowing his own sister, and I care not a jot what becomes of Roger Crosbie."
'"But I do," I burst out. "Roger and Phil knew nothing of our plans; they only joined for the sake of the frolic. I will go to the Queen and tell her everything, and say that if any one is to be banished or dismissed, it ought to me."
'"Indeed!" said Lady Sarah dryly. "And when you have given Her Majesty your instructions, and she has perchance followed your advice, and had you turned out of the Palace for a malapert rogue, pray what becomes of my Lady Desmond and your promise to her mother?"
'I stamped my foot on the ground with a sort of impatient despair as I thought of Frances, sick and lonely, and of Lady Dalrymple's face of misery when she implored my help.
'"What am I to do?" I muttered half-aloud, clenching my fists with a most gentlemanlike desire to knock Lady Sarah down.
'"Listen to me," she replied quietly, "and perhaps I shall be able to devise some means for getting you out of your trouble."
'I stared at the lady incredulously. Decidedly she was the very last person I should have thought likely to help me. Besides the rough treatment she had received at my hands this very evening, which had, as I thought, made her my enemy for ever, was she not one of the very maids of honour who were to profit by the ransom of the Taunton girls? A very odd smile hovered in the corners of Lady Sarah's mouth as she watched my face.
'"I daresay you would not have chosen me for a confidante," she went on; "but you cannot help yourself now, so you must attend to me. Unclench your hand, and don't look so furious, or I shall be afraid to stay in the room with you. I have felt enough of your strength to-night, sir, to desire no further exhibition of it."
'Lady Sarah glanced at a bruise on her wrist as she spoke; and I, feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself, could only turn very red and endeavour to stammer out an apology.
'"There, never mind that now," she proceeded. "What I want you to understand is this. Though I care nothing for what becomes of those boys (and I see you think me very hard-hearted for saying so), yet I am not quite so relentless as you doubtless imagine. I wish to save you from the consequences of your own folly. You are not like Hal Verney, who is always planning escapades of this kind for the sake of the intrigue, and the excitement; nor like Philip and Roger, who would engage in anything that promised them a frolic. You had some reason for joining in this wild scheme, ill-advised as it was, and therefore I will do my best to help you. My brother Philip is to ride to-morrow in the train of the Princess Anne, who goes to pay my Lord of Rochester a visit. You shall go in his place. The Princess will be away from Court nearly a week, and by that time this affair will have blown over. In the meantime I shall tell the Queen that there were but three of you who pursued me in mistake for Father Niccolo. She need never know of your being there at all; for she had no time to see how many of you were in the chapel, and the good father will not be able to inform her, for he scarcely knows one of you from the other, and certainly not you, you obstinate little heretic, who keep so carefully aloof from him. I will take care that Philip does not betray you; and I suppose you may safely count on the honour of Roger and Hal. Is it not so?"
'"Madam, you are very good," I stammered out, after a pause of extreme astonishment. "But, but—how can I possibly put myself in safety, while the others are left in the lurch? They would never betray me, I know that; but that is the very reason! Oh, it is impossible that I should leave them!"
'"Foolish boy, what good can your staying be to them? I can take care of my own brother, I suppose; and as to the rest, they will get no more than they deserve. Besides," Lady Sarah went on, speaking low, and very eagerly, "you must see that, if the Queen once discovers that you were mixed up in this business, you lose all chance of prospering in your suit. Whereas, if you keep your own counsel, deny all knowledge of the affair, and follow out my directions, I'll wager anything you like that your part in the doings of to-night never comes to the Queen's ears at all. Then you come back in a week's time, when Her Majesty has forgotten the misbehaviour of her pages. You present your petition, tell the touching story of your bride's imprisonment, and carry your point with flying colours."
'But I had not been a courtier long enough to appreciate the full force of Lady Sarah's arguments. My life at Whitehall had done me no good. I did things now which would have horrified me to see done by others six months before. I was becoming used to the selfishness, the scheming, and the want of principle shown by nearly every one around me; but I had never yet told a deliberate lie, nor allowed one to be told in my name. So I refused Lady Sarah's proposal again very decidedly, feeling hotly indignant that she should think me capable of the amount of deceit and treachery which the plan she proposed would imply. She only laughed at my anger, however, and protested that a page who never told a lie was a being who had never existed; that falsehood came as naturally to him as doubling and winding to a coursed hare, and was quite as necessary to his security.
'"As necessary as listening behind doorways to ladies of honour," said I, unable to resist giving vent to a suspicion which had flashed into my mind at the beginning of our conversation. In what way but by eavesdropping could Lady Sarah have obtained such an intimate knowledge of all Lady Dalrymple had said to me in the oratory?
'"Well, sir," she replied very coolly, though perhaps there was a shade more of red in her cheeks than before, "if I had not happened to overhear some of that interesting discourse this morning, how should I have been able to help you out of your difficulties to-night? You would never have told me your secret of your own accord."
'I involuntarily shook my head, and then, with a great effort to keep my temper, said, "I can't see why you should care to help me, madam. If you really do, I thank you; but I cannot do as you would have me, so I must manage this business as best I can. I know I have very little chance with the Queen, but I must try."
'"As you like it," replied Her Ladyship, shrugging her shoulders, and laughing a disagreeable little laugh. "You refuse my assistance, and imagine you can win a grace from Her Majesty by your own diplomatic talents! We shall see."
'"We shall see," I repeated mechanically, as I closed the door and walked away, after an elaborate farewell salutation to Lady Sarah; but I felt more down-hearted and uncertain what course to pursue than ever. I paced slowly along the corridor, pondering on Lady Sarah's proposal, so very strange and so unlooked-for from her, when suddenly an idea darted into my mind that directly threw a light on her meaning. Of course she was scheming to prevent my appeal to the Queen. Her policy was to send me out of the way for the present, until she could in some way contrive to render my petition useless, or perhaps put a stop to my presenting it altogether. Why had I been so dull as not to think of this before? For, as I said just now, Lady Sarah was one of the very persons for whose benefit these cruel ransoms were to be extorted. What was to be done? She had failed, to be sure, in baiting properly the first little trap she had laid for me; but there were many ether ways, of course, in which she might easily manage to thwart me.
'Why had I not followed my first impulse, and gone at once to the Queen in a straightforward manner? Why had I allowed Hal to persuade me for a moment that the crooked path could ever be the best? But, after all, why should I not take the straight path now? It seemed to me, without doubt the only thing to be done under the circumstances, and I resolved to do it. I would go to the Queen directly, without waiting for the next chance opportunity, and tell her my story before Lady Sarah should have time to stand between us. Yes, happen what might, I determined to make my petition without any more delay, with the forlorn hope that Her Majesty's pity and kind-heartedness might grant it in spite of my unlucky piece of misconduct. I had been pausing on the staircase while I turned these things over in my mind, and, having settled at last what my course of action was to be, my spirits suddenly rose to such a pitch that I felt it necessary to work them off by indulging in a slide down the bannisters (at home I very seldom went down-stairs in any other way, unless there was a chance of meeting Lady Mountfort, or Father Freeling); but, since my Court life began, opportunities did not come as often as I could have wished. However, here was an excellent one! For once in a way not a soul was in sight, above or below, so up I vaulted, and shot down to the first landing-place like lightning. But oh! what were my feelings, when, just as I started on my second journey, the Queen herself suddenly emerged from a passage, and advanced towards the foot of the stairs! One desperate attempt I made to stop myself, but only succeeded in giving my pace such an impetus, that I barely escaped charging straight into Her Majesty's arms. It seemed to me that I certainly was the very unluckiest person in Christendom. Just at this particular time, when it was so especially important to me to be in the Queen's good graces, who but I could have contrived to offend her twice in the same evening? I glanced nervously at her face, which showed plainly enough that she was extremely angry. As for me, I felt for a moment as if I had quite as much cause for anger as she had. Why need she have appeared just at that minute, and just in that particular place, too, where no one could possibly expect to meet her? A Queen, in my opinion, had no right to wander about in the region of the back-stairs, and take her pages by surprise when they were having a little harmless enjoyment. So, what with my confusion and vexation, by way of mending matters, I forgot to utter a word of apology, and stood stock-still before her, conscious of torn and crumpled ruffles, that the bow of my cravat was behind instead of before, and that there was a slit of appalling length in my claret-coloured velvet sleeve.
'"Well, sir, have you nothing to say for yourself?" was Her Majesty's exclamation, after the first pause of indignant surprise. "Perhaps you expect me to ask pardon for intruding upon your Lordship's privacy?"
'"I crave your Majesty's pardon with all my heart," I stammered out, as awkwardly as if I had been a horse-boy or a cow-herd, instead of a young courtier.
"I was only—that is—I never——" But Her Majesty cut me short with what I thought a perfectly withering smile, and a sharp "Enough, enough! Was ever such a bear before in the guise of a lady's page? You may go, sir; and I beg that this may be the last I see of you to-night. To-morrow that escapade of yours in the chapel must be inquired into; and I warn you that Father Niccolo shall not be insulted with impunity while my word has any weight in the Palace." And she swept past me with a look in her face which I knew quite well, and which always seemed completely to shut one's lips. When I saw the corners of her mouth drawn down, and that particular flash in her eyes, I felt that all poor Lady Dalrymple's hopes of my intercession had been in vain. Through my own fault I had lost every chance of gaining my suit. I stared after the Queen despairingly. She was going up the staircase, perhaps to Lady Sarah's room! I remembered my resolution of only five minutes ago. Now was the time to speak if I was to speak at all Yes, now or never! It would be useless, of course—of that I felt hardly a doubt; but it would be cowardly to give up without an effort, so that effort must be made. The next moment I was at the top of the staircase, pouring out my whole story to the astonished Queen, who stood perfectly breathless with bewilderment at my extraordinary, not to say daring behaviour. I told her everything from beginning to end without stopping, for fear she should dismiss me before hearing the whole—everything, that is, relating to my own affairs. I said as little as could be helped about Hal Verney, and nothing at all about Lady Sarah's proposal. There was no need to bring that in, and I did not want to accuse her unnecessarily. It was not till I had finished that I ventured to look up anxiously into the Queen's face. I was curious, and yet somewhat afraid, to see the effect which my unwonted proceedings would produce. Her mouth was not drawn down now—that was certainly a relief. I drew a long breath, and waited with beating heart and burning cheeks for her answer. When she did speak at length, it was not as she had spoken a few minutes before—not in the sharp icy tone that I had more than half expected to hear.
'"Come into my cabinet, child; this is not the place to discuss such matters in. I must hear this tale of yours over again, a little more clearly."
'And I followed her, quite trembling with pent-up eagerness, down-stairs (not this time on the balustrade), and into her own private cabinet. There my story had to be told again, interrupted very often by questions from the Queen, who seemed to listen with a great interest and attention when I repeated what Lady Dalrymple had told me about the troubles that my poor little wife had gone through, and the sickness and danger she was in at present. A really pained look came over her face, and her eyes filled with tears—somewhat to my amazement, I must say. That she was generous and warm-hearted, in spite of her pride and quick temper, and that she could sometimes do extremely kind things in a fit of impulse, I knew well enough; but that she should care so much for Frances' misfortunes as to cry over them, was more than I had dreamed of expecting, now especially, when I had just made her so angry. It was strange that she could feel so much pity for one person, and yet so little for all the rest of the miserable people who were suffering every day from having taken part in the Western Rebellion, some of whom were undergoing far more terrible punishments than the Taunton girls. Scores had been hung or beheaded, one or two even burned, and many shipped off as slaves to the colonies. I wondered whether she had felt as much distress for the Duke of Monmouth; whether she had tried at all to save him, or any of the unhappy prisoners whose friends were daily sending fruitless petitions to the Palace. If she could but have heard each one's story as she had heard mine, she never could have shown so much indifference to their fate. But all could not be saved, of course, whatever her wishes might be. Perhaps that was the reason why she appeared to be careless of all alike.
'In these speculations, however, I was soon interrupted by a tap on the shoulder from the Queen.
'"What are you knitting your brows about, child? Is it that you feel a husband's cares and responsibilities too much for you? Well, it is somewhat hard, I grant, for the troubles of married life to begin thus early. But never fear! I think I may promise to help you out of the present one. I will speak to the King to-night on behalf of this poor little wife of yours."
'How I thanked Her Majesty I really have not the smallest recollection. The boon that I feared was lost entirely, and all through my own folly, was actually gained after all; and I need not describe my relief and delight, which were all the greater for the difficulties I had gone through, and my hopelessness at last of winning it. How glad I felt now! How very, very glad that I had made and kept that resolution—hard as it was at the time—and had spoken out boldly and straightforwardly to the Queen! If I had kept silence, then I should most likely have found no other chance of speaking at all. Yes, I had done what was right, and that is the one deed which one never can regret. Not a very original remark, I am quite aware of that; but I never felt the truth of it so strongly in my life as then, and I have never forgotten it since.
'"Nay, you must not be too sure of my success," the Queen said, smiling, perhaps a little bitterly, as I tried to express my gratitude. "I will do my best; but remember, my power has a limit, though you look as though you scarce believed that. Ah, well!—now you may leave me. I will send a messenger to Lady Dalrymple, and bid her wait upon me early to-morrow morning. And, Algernon," she continued, as I knelt to kiss her hand before leaving the room, "you and your companions must make an apology for your rudeness to Father Niccolo, and the affair shall be passed over for this time, on condition that we hear no more of such crazy tricks for the future."
'It was all I could do to murmur out more thanks, and walk soberly out of Her Majesty's presence after this. And the first thing I did, when I found myself out of earshot, was to give vent to my feelings in a burst of whistling; after which I rushed off in search of Hal Verney, most anxious to make up the first quarrel we had ever had. He heard the news of how well my suit prospered with great satisfaction, though not, perhaps, with quite as much as if the cause had been carried by means of his own contrivance. However, I think he was somewhat consoled for the failure of that ingenious plan, when I told him that we had nothing to fear now on the score of Father Niccolo.
'What a long day that was to look back upon! It seemed as if a week had gone by since I was called in from the bowling-green to see Lady Dalrymple. For the first time in my life, I could not go to sleep directly my head was on the pillow, but lay awake, thinking of Frances in the Taunton jail, and wondering whether the order for release would, after all, come in time to save her.
'"My Lord Desmond, you are wanted in her Majesty's closet," said one of the Queen's officers-in-waiting, as he passed me in the ante-chamber the next morning.
'It was yet quite early; and though I had just been attending on Her Majesty at breakfast, she had made no allusion to her promise of the night before, except to favour me with a gracious nod and smile, which I thought looked encouraging.
'I suppose the gentleman saw me start and colour at his message, for he whispered to Roger Crosbie as I moved away, "What's in the wind now? Desmond looks as if some madcap prank were on his conscience. Has he got into trouble with the Queen, think you?"
'"Marry, no, I trust not!" I heard Roger say in a loud and horrified tone. "Why, I thought he told me we were out of that quandary! Sure he can't have tumbled into it again already!"
'I did not wait to reassure Roger, but rushed off with all speed to the painted cabinet, which room was an especial favourite of the Queen's, and generally went by the name of her "closet." She was not there when I went in; there was only a tall lady in black standing by the window whom I recognised this time without difficulty.
'"Well, Algernon," she said, coming to meet me with outstretched hands; "thank you a thousand times. You have gained your wife's liberty. God grant that it may not be too late to save her life!"
'The last words gave me rather a chill; for though the doubt had also occurred to me, I could not bear to think that she also had the same fears.
'"Then she is to be released, madam?" I asked, eagerly. "The King has really granted a pardon?"
'"Yes, a free pardon at the Queen's intercession. The whole of the fine is remitted, and I am going to bring her home. I start for Taunton in an hour. Poor heart," and she sighed, repeating half to herself, "if only I am not too late!"
'"Oh, pray, madam, do not say so," I cried earnestly. "You will not be too late,—indeed you will not! When once she is taken out of that horrible place, with you to nurse her too, she must get well. Oh, the sight of you will do her good directly, I am sure it will!"
"'I shall tell her what she owes to you," said Lady Dalrymple, taking my hands again, with tears in her kind, soft brown eyes.
'"I thank you again in her name, with all my heart. May I give your love to her, my dear?"
'I murmured with some difficulty a shy "Yes, if you please, madam." And then, as voices and footsteps were heard approaching the door, she drew me suddenly into her arms, and kissed me as if I had been one of Frances' brothers.
'"You are my son, you know, Algernon," she said, with a sort of half-apologetic smile. "God bless you, my dear boy, and keep both you and her!"
'Some of the Queen's ladies entered at that moment to summon Lady Dalrymple once more to their mistress's presence; and so I said farewell to my mother-in-law, and for the last time, though I little thought so then.
'Hal Verney, who, of course, had contrived to find out more of the matter than anybody else, informed me that Frances was not the only one to whom I had done good service by my petition. The Queen had inquired strictly into the matter of the Taunton maidens, and had been much displeased with several of her ladies for the lengths they had gone in it, and the hard-heartedness they had shown in the affair. Owing to her remonstrances, when she found out this, all the fines were decreased to about a third of what had been demanded at first; and one or two of the girls, whose parents were really poor, received, like Frances, a free pardon.
'I was very glad to hear this, for Agnes Blount's sake especially. She was at Newcourt when I went there for a short visit at Christmas; and from her I heard the whole story of the part which Madame St. Aubert's school had taken in Monmouth's insurrection, and the troubles which had befallen it in consequence. Agnes had been lately staying at Horsemandown, and she told me, as a great secret, that Lady Dalrymple wished very much that I should pay a visit there, but that Sir Harry, and more especially, Lady Mountfort, had resolutely refused to hear of it. Why, I could not wholly understand till afterwards; but I remember how desperately angry and disappointed I felt at the time.
'Well! you have heard all my Lady Desmond's adventures fully enough from her own mouth, so there is no need for me to say anything more about them. I will only tell you that she quite recovered from that terrible prison fever, though her sickness was a very long and serious one. Perhaps you may also like to know that Henrietta Sydney entirely escaped the infection. She stayed a long time at Horsemandown, helping Lady Dalrymple to nurse poor little Frances; and the friendship that began in Taunton jail was never interrupted to the end of both their lives.'